I had been coveting this bag for a while, routinely stalking it while I was working. We had a thing, this bag and I.
I’d say hello, tell it not to worry, that one day it would be coming home with me, it just needed to be patient.
I’d admire its clean lines, its top handles and it’s detachable shoulder strap. I loved its smooth pebbly leather and its discreetness. It wasn’t flashy. There were no bells and whistles. It didn’t sell me on anything. It didn’t need to. I was already sold.
Then the day came. My last day to be precise. I was leaving my work, moving on to new possibilities. I considered leaving it there. But it didn’t seem fair. After all this time, how could I leave it? I decided I wasn’t going to be that person, the kind that promises the world and comes up empty handed. I knew that kind.
So I walked up to it, freed it from its constraints and with a swipe of my card, the deal was done.
It was mine.